


aphrodite drinks cocktails

by idontknowhowtoread (heatherpotts)



Series: thank you mafia au for my life [1]
Category: Asagao Academy: Normal Boots Club, PBG Hardcore
Genre: -banging pots and pans- read asagao city never sleeps!!, Drinking, M/M, also this got really long oops, but thats okay this is just for funsies, call that the bar exam..., it is probably painfully obvious that this was written by an ace lesbian, oh well.., one (1) smooch, one who has never had an alcohol ever in her life either, shout out to dream and madison i love yall, this is probably not canon to actual mafia au bc. Boy does this have some implications later on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 01:37:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20331913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heatherpotts/pseuds/idontknowhowtoread
Summary: A lawyer and a professor-in-training walk into a bar. They talk about Sappho.





	aphrodite drinks cocktails

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [asagao city never sleeps](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18861100) by [cheapsushi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheapsushi/pseuds/cheapsushi), [lotsofdreamboats](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lotsofdreamboats/pseuds/lotsofdreamboats). 

> “Sweet mother, I cannot weave –  
slender Aphrodite has overcome me  
with longing for a girl.” 
> 
> ― Sappho
> 
> (dean lesbian ally on god)

Mcjones had only been in Asagao for two days, this being the end of the second, but he was already starting to question why he had bothered coming at all.

** **

He sighed, fingers drumming against the side of his glass of whiskey. Because _ of course _ it had taken only a single day to destroy his resolve and bring him here, to this bar called _ Bluebell _ on the sketchier side of town. An inconvenience too, because _ Austin _ told him to stay away from the much closer and seemingly nicer bar, _ The Bottled Brick, _ because it was some kind of mob front, or whatever.

** **

If it served whiskey, they could be running a torture chamber in the back rooms for all he cared. He just needed a _ damn _ drink after everything, after _ Austin. _

** **

Austin, the whole reason he was here in the first place. To catch up a bit, while he had a break in his studies, to make sure he was still alive and wasn't _ entirely _ running his life off the deep end.

** **

And, he had come to find, Austin kind of _ was. _ Only Mcjones couldn't exactly say for sure, because Austin did nothing but talk about meaningless shit and _ lie, _ in places so meticulously chosen that he had to assume Austin was hiding something.

** **

The same Austin from when they were kids, who would never shut up and was _ obsessed _ with adventure, now refused to tell Mcjones about anything meaningful that had happened in the last six months, refused to answer his phone, and now Mcjones feared he was exploring the entirely wrong crowd.

** **

But there wasn't much he could do. They were both grown adults, well into their twenties, and no matter how much Austin seemed like it, he wasn't a child. And if he didn't want to reconnect with his brother, fine. He'd just go to a bar, all the way on the other side of town, and then head all the way back to his hotel, and repeat until he could finally go home. It was a fate Mcjones was willing to accept, assuming the bar had decent whiskey. Maybe he could write some stuff down, observe the inner workings of the city, try to give this trip at least some academic purpose.

** **

He didn't have any paper right now, though. Or anything to write with, although he supposed they had pens for the tabs. He had his phone, but he didn't want it to die, and he didn't really _ feel _ like writing, anyway.

** **

He drummed his fingers on the side of the glass, taking another sweeping glance over the patrons of the bar before taking a sizable swig. They all dressed in varying levels of formality, suits and subtle, dark dresses alongside simple vests and button-ups. They were remarkably quiet too, murmuring at the loudest, largely focused on the singer on-stage near the back. She paced on the stage, hips swinging and long red hair flipping with every movement, certainly a suitable distraction.

** **

She had a nice voice, and she was pretty, but Mcjones would have appreciated a little more to focus on.

** **

Because he could barely focus on the singer, _ what was her name, Maria? _ He could barely focus on _ her _ because every time he looked in her direction, his eyes wandered. To the man towards the front, almost directly across from Mcjones. To the man on the much more formal side of the spectrum, black suit at the very least _ seeming _ spotless in the low light, with equally dark hair to match and something _ dangerous _ in his eyes. To the man he had noticed the moment he walked in, to the man he couldn't help but catch-

** **

_ Fuck, _ he was _ looking _ again. And Mcjones knew he knew he was looking, as a fire flickered in his dark eyes from across the room and a smirk unfurled across his face, setting a fire raging in Mcjones' chest and across his cheeks.

** **

He forced himself to look away, taking down the rest of his whiskey with a somewhat pained swallow, slamming the glass down harder onto the counter than he had meant to. _ Was he drawing too much attention? Fuck. _

** **

He grounded himself with the sensation of tapping on the glass, the sound of his nails clinking against it. He was here for two reasons, and two reasons only. One, for Austin, to catch up and... _ whatever. _ Which didn't _ exactly _ work out. And two, _ to... find... himself? _

** **

Academically, of course. To observe the city, and its inner workings, and... _ shit, _ was watching this random stranger part of that? No, this _ had _ to be unprofessional. He couldn't let himself justify this, this was wrong, everything he had _ ever _ been taught _ ever _ in his life went against this, _ he couldn't- _

** **

"Hey, you come here often?" The stranger's voice rang out, and Mcjones nearly jumped out of his skin.

** **

"Oh my- _ Jesus Christ, _ don't scare me like that," Mcjones breathlessly replied, clutching his chest as if to prove his point.

** **

The stranger chuckled, and come to think of it, Mcjones _ really _ didn't expect that voice to come out of _ that _ body. Nor did he expect to be this close to the stranger so soon, let alone _ at all. _ Less than a foot away, spinning slightly on his stool, and Mcjones couldn't keep himself from getting caught on the little details from the very start. His suit, still spotless and perfectly monochrome. His hair, reflecting a bit more blue in the better light, and how it bounced when he laughed. His laugh, the quality a bit tinny, yet bubbly, nothing like what Mcjones was expecting, but he couldn't complain.

** **

And most noticeably of all, even behind thick rimmed glasses, the fire in his eyes was _ captivating_. 

** **

"Sorry," He giggled, absent-mindedly pushing up his glasses and showing absolutely no sign of any actual remorse. "Just couldn't help myself. So do 'ya?"

** **

"Oh, uh... No, actually. Just visiting," Mcjones replied, finding himself stumbling over his words in a way that made him start to worry about if his drink was poisoned.

** **

Logically, he knew it wasn't. The symptoms would have set in long before then, and while he did mind to keep an eye out for any signs of digestive failure or extreme light sensitivity, he knew this was a _ different _ kind of poison. Maybe it was the liquor itself, but he doubted it, he wasn't _ that _ much of a lightweight. Or maybe it was just the stranger himself.

** **

All three options worried Mcjones deeply.

** **

"Ah, just visiting. Guess I'm lucky to catch you then, huh?" The stranger nodded, signaling for Mcjones to nod along, which he did half-heartedly. 

** **

"I- I guess so."

** **

"Mhmm, so what brings you to Asagao, then?" He asked, scooting his stool a bit closer to make up for the noise of the bar singer starting up again. _ Closer _ than Mcjones was ready for, in a way that activated some primal urge of self-defense.

** **

Not fight or flight, just _ surviving. _ Refusing to crack under the pressure of this stranger's suggestion, his presence in general. Self defense, and definitely not just... _ flirting back. _

** **

_ No, never. _ Why would he even _ want _ to do that? Just surviving, like every girl he's ever been with. That's all it is.

** **

"Oh, y'know. Half family, half business," Mcjones replied with a somewhat forced smirk, trying to put on a sense of coolness in front of the stranger, like he wasn't _ melting _ under his gaze. Of course, he felt the facade crack when Dean mirrored his smirk, catching his bottom lip between his teeth only for half a second, but enough to send Mcjones' heart plummeting into his stomach.

** **

"Really. Business at the bottom of a bottle, huh?" He snarked, and Mcjones realized just how stupid that sounded, given he was here, drinking alone. Or maybe just sad.

** **

"... I'm off the clock," Mcjones chuckled, his gaze falling on the empty glass and incapable of returning to the stranger.

** **

"I mean, I'd hope so," The stranger exclaimed, at least indicating he thought that Mcjones was funny, which was _ kind of _ a win, he supposed. "Actually, I think I still am, technically. Came here to negotiate some stuff with my client, but I haven't heard anything so I'm assuming he cancelled. So, here I am, and it's been like, two hours, so I _ think _ I'm legally allowed to leave. But I want a drink. Can I buy you a drink?"

** **

Mcjones blinked, processing the rapid onslaught of words and trying to find an answer to his question.

** **

"Uh... sure," Mcjones sighed, pushing his empty glass towards the other end of the counter.

** **

The stranger practically beamed at him, calling the bartender over by knocking loudly on the counter. The bartender, all the way on the other side of the room, had dark hair and glasses somewhat like the stranger's, except he looked entirely fed up with whatever shit he had been dealing with. He acknowledged them with a vague glance over his shoulder. The stranger held up two fingers, and the bartender gave an unenthusiastic thumbs up. Mcjones had no idea what he was ordering, but it would seem that the stranger came here often enough to have a regular.

** **

"So, uh... What do you do?" Mcjones asked, trying to distract himself from how frighteningly quick and out of control this entire encounter was.

** **

"Oh, me? I'm a lawyer. Hey, I got business cards now," He mused, digging out a simple white card from the inside of his jacket, perfectly monochrome like the rest of him. He glanced at it, smiling proudly at its status or... _ whatever, _ before the smile dropped from his face like a grand piano off a roof.

** **

"I- Oh my God, I'm so sorry, I didn't even introduce myself," He stammered, clumsily handing Mcjones the card. "Dean Elazab, at your service. Call me Dean."

** **

Mcjones plucked it out of his hands, briefly examining it. _ Dean Elazab, real estate, under NDA 24/7, _ and at the very bottom, a phone number.

** **

Mcjones chuckled, tucking the card into his pocket. 

** **

"Well, nice to meet you, Dean. Call me Mcjones," Mcjones said, trying to mask his ever present nervousness by holding out his hand for Dean to shake. There wasn't all that much room between them to accommodate for it, but Dean still took it.

** **

"Just Mcjones? No first name, no last name, just Mcjones."

** **

"Just Mcjones," Mcjones sighed, forcing himself to keep from rolling his eyes.

** **

"Huh. Well, _ just Mcjones, _ if you are ever in need of any legal counsel, or getting money out of anyone, or getting anyone evicted, or maybe just a good time-"

** **

"I don't think I'll be staying here long enough to utilise any of your... services, I'm afraid," Mcjones interrupted, gripping the counter for comfort in place of his empty glass. Dean showed no sign of discouragement, a smirk growing on his face yet again. 

** **

"Hey, you never know. You might just want to stay. But no pressure, of course, I'm just counting on that drink with you for now."

** **

Mcjones chuckled breathlessly, eyes wandering again, looking for anything else to focus on, just for a moment. The wooden, scratched up counter, his nails, the business card in his pocket, the glittering glasses on the other end of the counter, the bar singer's voice coming to the end of her song once again. _ Him. _ He couldn't bring himself to focus on any one thing in particular. 

** **

"Yeah, I guess so..." Mcjones confirmed off handedly, tracing his pocket just for something to fidget with, something to take his mind off the merely seconds long, yet _ agonizing _ silence.

** **

_ Wait... _

** **

"Uh... You said you're a lawyer, right?" Mcjones asked, pulling the card back out and holding it between his fingers.

** **

"Yep."

** **

"So, why do you do your... _ negotiations _ here, then? Don't you have, like, an office or something?" Mcjones asked, looking over the business card again and finding no mention of a location.

** **

"Oh- Well... y'know, I-" Dean stammered, eyebrows furrowing together as the words caught in his throat. "It's... I can't say much about that, actually, 'cause NDA. But believe me, it's a lot, uh... _ safer, _ to move around like this."

** **

Mcjones frowned, taking another once-over of him. What the hell did he mean _ safer? _ He was a damn lawyer, that had to be one of the cushier jobs in this kind of town, right?

** **

... Was it even worth asking for clarification?

** **

"Uh... Alright," Mcjones huffed, deciding against it. "But still, do you not work for like, a firm or anything?"

** **

"Oh, please. My firm is the B-" Dean caught himself again, seemingly trying to mask it with a cough, tugging on his collar. "I mean, I'm a freelancer, basically. But I've been working _ with... _ Uh..."

** **

"NDA, I get it," Mcjones sighed. Dean mirrored him, breathing a sigh of honest relief, a thankful glance with a sweet smile that Mcjones wasn't sure how to feel about.

** **

Before either of them could speak up again, more relief arrived in the form of drinks. A different bartender now, which made Mcjones wonder a bit exactly how they communicated, a woman with hair similar to the singer's, but tied up in a bun. 

** **

"Here you two are," She murmured, sliding the two drinks across the counter towards them. "On me, Dean."

** **

Mcjones blinked, but before he could question how that defeated the purpose of Dean buying him a drink, she was walking away, and Dean was calling out after her.

** **

"Thanks, Dodge!"

** **

"No problem. Good luck," She replied, grinning with a wink, almost wickedly. She disappeared into the back of the bar once more, and Mcjones had no time to question why she winked at him either before Dean was all over their drinks.

** **

_ "Yesssss~" _ He giggled, reaching for his drink like a toddler reaching for his toy, taking a long sip from his straw and making a tedious amount of eye contact with Mcjones while doing it. 

** **

Mcjones swallowed, dragging his own drink closer to himself, not quite sure what to make of it.

** **

It was red, for one. And cold, and smelled almost overwhelmingly fruity.

** **

"I don't typically drink... uh, cocktails..."

** **

Dean gave him another one of those hooded, teasing looks, the type that made a pit form in Mcjones' stomach, a sinkhole by now. 

** **

"Never know 'till you try, mister. You might like it, and if not, I'll drink it. It's got more alcohol in it than most of the stuff they serve here, though..."

** **

"I mean, I've been drinking whiskey," Mcjones mused, biting the bullet and picking up the drink, taking a sip before he could stop himself.

** **

Mcjones recoiled a bit, eyes widening and blinking rapidly, the liquor surprisingly strong.

** **

"Oh. Wow."

** **

"Right?" Dean giggled, taking another sip. If Mcjones didn't know any better, he'd say Dean was already drunk.

** **

"Uh... Wh- What _ is _ this?"

** **

"Shirley Temple," Dean stated, his cheeks somehow already flushed, a surprising burst of color to his monochrome. "But, y'know. Boozy."

** **

"Figured," Mcjones put simply, like he wasn't entirely bewildered by this whole encounter.

** **

"So, mister Mcjones, what do _ you _ do?" Dean asked, a question that Mcjones supposed he should have been expecting, but couldn't be any _ less _ prepared for. 

** **

Mcjones wondered if the alcohol was already kicking in, figuring he had been here long enough. He had to be at least a little tipsy, if he was letting himself believe Dean actually _ cared, _ or something.

** **

"Oh, I- Well, I'm still studying, guess I'm working at a coffee shop right now, but I'm trying to become a professor. Of literature and... such."

** **

"Oooh, _ professor _ Mcjones," Dean crowed, still grinning _ oh so viciously. _ "I like that. Suits you."

** **

"Um... Thanks," Mcjones muttered, busying himself more with his drink rather than analyzing whatever thought processes brought Dean to that conclusion.

** **

"You specialize in anything in particular?"

** **

"Oh, um-" Mcjones stammered, briefly forgetting what it was he even studied, and still failing to prepare himself for the questions he knew would keep coming. "I- I mean, I've had to do a bit of everything. I do actually like making a sort of timeline of when works were published and analyzing their themes, what was going on in the world when they were published, their general outlook and hopefulness for the future, y'know. Although I suppose I focus a lot on the general 1800s sort of period, so Hawthorne, Wilde, Shelley, the likes."

** **

Mcjones forced a small smile, already knowing he probably sounded pretentious as all hell, but Dean nodded along surprisingly enthusiastically, pausing only to drink.

** **

"You got a favorite?"

** **

"I- Oh, that's hard," Mcjones chuckled, and if he had been more conscious of it, he would have been considerably frightened by the fact that he was actually loosening up. "I'd say... One of, at least, just because I talk about it a lot and I just find the themes especially... relevant, I suppose, I'd say The Scarlet Letter…?"

** **

Mcjones watched Dean's face, perhaps a little closer than he should have, as his head tilted to the side, eyebrows knitting together, repeatedly opening his mouth as if to say something but each time deciding against it, finally deciding on taking another sip of his drink.

** **

"... I'm assuming you're familiar?"

** **

"Oh, yeah. Of course," Dean sputtered, almost choking on his drink. "I was just- I can see that for you. Personally, I guess I'm more of a fan of the... a bit less _ bleak, _ when it comes to stories."

** **

Mcjones hummed, becoming innately familiar with Dean's expressions, the curve of his lips and the crinkling of his eyes as he switched from flustered embarrassment back to the relentlessly suave persona Mcjones had grown so used to.

** **

... _ Used to _ seemed like an overstatement, and if he was more sober, he would have been a little more worried about how much he was staring at Dean's face.

** **

"So... what's your opinion on love stories?"

** **

Oh _ God, _ the way Dean smirked when he said that as if he was baring his teeth, the way his eyelids hung low as if concentrating his gaze to burn right through Mcjones, it honestly felt like Dean was trying to kill him. He couldn't tell if it was the liquor, or if it was all Dean, but his cheeks felt like they were on fire, and he was terrified that it was _ obvious, _ even in the low light.

** **

He forced himself to avert his eyes, clutching his glass harder than he probably should have been, given it was _ glass. _ He clinked his nails against it, taking a deep breath.

** **

"... Never really thought they were for me. I get the appeal, 'eres still value in 'em, but..."

** **

He paused to take another sip of his drink, realizing that _ oh, _ he was already almost out. And _ oh, _ he had a very bad idea, and _ oh fuck, _ he couldn't help himself.

** **

"Maybe I just haven't found the right one yet."

** **

...

** **

Why the actual _ fuck _ did he say that?

** **

Dean grinned, that same smile he had been wearing all this time, but now it just _ screamed _ that Dean wanted to _ eat him alive. _

** **

Worst of all, Mcjones wasn't nearly as scared of it as he should have been. _ Seriously_, what the _ hell _ did they put in their cocktails? He should have been scared of it, _ terrified, _ disgusted, should have refused to let himself get distracted and definitely shouldn't have _ flirted back. _ This wasn't survival anymore, _ fuck no, _ this man was going to give him a _ goddamn heart attack. _

** **

Mcjones knew, vaguely, what it was that he wanted, but even saying it to himself was impossible. What even was his brain right now? What would _ they _ say? When he woke up in the morning after all this, what would even be left of his life?

** **

"... Maybe," Dean chuckled, and somehow, all of Mcjones' fears and doubts melted. If he died tomorrow, he wouldn't be all that mad if these were his final moments. Maybe he really would die tomorrow, and if so... _ why not _ go further with this? "... Do you happen to be familiar with the works of Sappho?" 

** **

"Wh... The poetess?" Mcjones asked, his deep and existential internal emotional conflict suddenly silenced and replaced with confusion. "Of course. Why...?"

** **

Dean laughed a bit, and Mcjones had no choice but to brace himself.

** **

"Yeah, the OG lesbian- I- Well, I'm no _ professor, _ but I've always seen a lot of... beauty, in it. And relevance, even after, uh... however long ago she was alive-"

** **

"Twenty... seven centuries ago, I believe?" Mcjones added, already doubting his math.

** **

"Uh- Oh wow, that's a lot, but- Yeah, that just adds to what I was saying, because it's kinda crazy how what she wrote is still... Even if we don't _ exactly _ share that same kind of attraction and love, what she wrote, even back then, I just find that so inherently... _ human." _

** **

"I find that you're inherently out of your mind," Mcjones snarked, as if he wasn't hooked on what Dean was saying from the very beginning. Dean rolled his eyes, continuing.

** **

"But I mean- Essentially, all that she wrote was one big love story, whether it ended well or not, and... I think that's the thing with love stories, they can be very personal, and thus not exactly for everyone, and so... Often, the best ones are those you get to live out yourself."

** **

"... And what does that have to do with Sappho?"

** **

"Because I think that, even then, she somehow managed to capture the... bare essentials, I guess, of that kind of love, of the love stories I witness, at least. Like I said, I think there's something quit- _ quintessent-ooally _ human about what she portrayed," Dean said, beginning to trip a bit on his words.

** **

"That's a big word for someone who's obviously drunk," Mcjones replied, despite the fact that he was only doing _marginally_ better.

** **

"I- Well, not _ yet," _ Dean whined, breaking only briefly from persistent aura of what, _seduction?_ "Maybe getting up there. But what I'm trying to get at is, I think there's a bit of truth in what she wrote for everyone, eventually. In accordance with... what, the will of... tender Aphrodite, overcoming-"

** **

"It's _ slender _ Aphrodite," Mcjones corrected, leaning back a bit, away from Dean. 

** **

"... Oh. Is it?" Dean asked, frowning, visibly searching his memory.

** **

"Uh, yeah... Well, I guess translations can differ, but..."

** **

Mcjones trailed off as Dean switched back to that suave, romantic nonsense talking persona fast enough to give him whiplash, leaning in mere centimeters but still enough to make Mcjones feel crowded, and-

** **

He should have tried to escape it, he knew, but... somehow, he didn't mind. More than that, he liked it. He smelled like liquor and pine and some vaguely rosy cologne, and Mcjones could barely hear Dean whisper over the sound of his own heart pounding in his ears.

** **

"If my memory is failing me, then I guess that means... I am truly overcome." 

** **

Dean paused for a moment, his hand slowly rising and closing over Mcjones', gauging his resolve; and even that, the simplest touch, sounded off every siren and whistle in Mcjones' mind, lighting him _ on fucking fire. _

** **

"With longing, I guess that goes unsaid, and... maybe not for a girl, and it may seem... _ hasty, _ in a place like this, but... it's true. I think there's a little Aphrodite everywhere, isn't she?"

** **

Mcjones couldn't find it in himself to speak and answer that question. He could barely keep his breathing at a regular pace, and he just _ couldn't _ keep his heart from pounding like a thousand empty bottles hitting the floor, surely for _ everyone _ to hear. Why couldn't he just calm down? Why couldn't he remember everything that just about everyone he's _ ever _ cared about had told him, that fooling around like this is _ wrong _ and will _ ruin him? _ He had practically held his feelings by the back of its neck all of his life, why couldn't he control them now? Why couldn't he just _ stop himself? _

** **

Why did he believe Dean when he said, as wrapped in nonsense and things Mcjones physically couldn't understand as it was, that this kind of love, hasty and nonsensical and _ drunk, _ in a place where surely, no love should grow, was _ beautiful? _ As if they were touched by Aphrodite, themselves, personally, like this was tragic, joyful art?

** **

He knew Dean could hear all the warring in his heart, the shattering glass in his head. Dean shrank a bit, but his hand still held Mcjones'.

** **

"... Is this okay...?"

** **

The fact that Dean was kind enough to ask really just made him want to cry. He hadn't wanted to cry in _ years, _ come to think of it. He hadn't wanted... anything, like this, in _ ages_. He hadn't felt like this in forever, hadn't been terrified and enraptured and _ hypnotized _ like this, hadn't wanted to feel like this, hadn't wanted _ more. _

** **

But _ oh, he did. _ And while he still couldn't quite speak, there was one way of telling Dean what he wanted, and Mcjones couldn't have stopped himself if he wanted to.

** **

He leaned forward, pressing his lips to Dean's, and _ by fucking Aphrodite, _ was he overcome with longing and yearning and all the pretty words in the world, because it felt _ incredible _ to just _ let go. _ He steadied himself with his other hand on Dean's shoulder, Dean brought his own up to just below Mcjones' jaw, and Mcjones could literally taste the alcohol, the _ cherry _ on Dean's lips.

** **

It wasn't a long moment of kissing, but it still sent his head spinning as they parted, struggling for air, his thoughts still running at a mile a minute, wondering _ when even was the last time he kissed someone like that? _ Never? No, he wasn't supposed to remember, wasn't even supposed to _ acknowledge _ the last time he did, but he didn't care anymore. Whether or not this was love, he wanted it.

** **

Dean took a moment to recover as well, licking his lips before splitting back into that blindingly brilliant smile, laughing like he was the luckiest man on Earth. Did he really think that...?

** **

Dean flipped his hand from on top of Mcjones' to under, bringing it up to his mouth and kissing his knuckles, and Mcjones honestly thought he might die here.

** **

But he was laughing with Dean, more honestly and gleefully than he had in much too long, and he knew he was enjoying this _ way _ too much. He had to be drunk, or just going crazy, but he didn't care anymore. Everything else, his family, the university, his studies, his brother, could wait, could simply avert their eyes for now. 

** **

Aphrodite had finally come for him, and at least in that moment, Dean was the most important thing in this stupid city, in this country, in the world. Call it whatever, but it was _ wonderful. _

** **

"Y'know, I don't think it was exactly right of me to talk so much of Aphrodite, how she overcomes all..." Dean murmured, a fire in his eyes that Mcjones now knew for certain that he shared, that he _ wanted. _ "Y'know, given how he's right in front of me."

** **

Mcjones couldn't help but burst out laughing at that, a tender tugging at his heart following as he noticed Dean still laughing along.

** **

"Well- I- You're not so bad yourself..." Mcjones stammered, trying to match Dean's flirting and preemptively knowing he would fail. "I could liken you to- uh, Dionysus...?"

** **

Dean kept on laughing, but Mcjones' cheeks kept on burning, more from excitement and nervous tension than flustered embarrassment. Which was still a factor, surely, but Mcjones wanted to _fucking_ _ scream, _ because he was just _ so damn happy. _

** **

"Dionysus," Dean repeated through laughter. "I'll take that. They don't even have wine here, can you believe that?"

** **

"Wh- But- Don't they?" Mcjones sputtered, searching the walls for some kind of menu, and finding the wine listing just above the whiskey. "Uh, yeah, they do?"

** **

Dean looked to where Mcjones was looking, tilting his head to the side.

** **

"Oh, well... Yeah, I guess. Just not to me."

** **

"Wh..." Mcjones paused, processing Dean's answer. "... What did you _ do?" _

** **

To that, Dean only laughed again, and Mcjones knew that he was enjoying watching Dean laugh _ way _ too much, but _ fuck, _ he just didn't care anymore. If anyone here was the son of Aphrodite, it had to be Dean, didn't it?

** **

"Well..." Dean droned, that same vicious sort of smile gracing his lips once more, tapping his chin as he searched for his answer. "I just- so _ happened _ to get into a fight on the clock, but- Y'know, don't worry your pretty little head about it," Dean said, booping Mcjones' nose.

** **

"You- You're saying that... Because you got into a fight while... working... they don't let you order wine anymore?"

** **

"Yeah. Cruel and unusual punishment..." Dean muttered, seeming honestly _ bitter. _ A brief glance across the counter and Mcjones found the bartenders blissfully unaware of Dean's plight.

** **

"But... you can still order... any other kind of drink? Regardless of... like, alcohol content?"

** **

"Mhmm," Dean confirmed, pouting. "They're so mean to me... But I did say not to worry your pretty little head about it, didn't I?"

** **

Mcjones couldn't tell if Dean was faking that sadness, given how quickly he switched back to flirting, or if he was just... _ like that? _

** **

"That you did," Mcjones sighed.

** **

"But, I... _ do _ happen to have some back at my place," Dean said, eyes flickering around and grinning like he was a child getting away with something he shouldn't have been. "They can't keep me from that, and... since you're only staying for so long, and in a hotel, if you'd like some _ company..." _

** **

Mcjones wasn't entirely sure what Dean meant by that, but company, regardless of its implications, sounded pretty _ amazing_. At the very least, a whole lot better than moping around in his hotel room.

** **

"I think I'd like that."**  
**


End file.
